Esprit Arena Düsseldorf...It's Friday, it's hot, it's fabulous. People are people, we sing, we dance, we stretch the arms towards heaven, we celebrate...Them...and almost 30 years of legend. Black celebration of senses, of fast, fashionable, bizarre, incurable melancholy, exotic surreal beats, rises and falls, extravagant outfits. Of an age of rock, alternative, industrial, soft, heavy, grungy, experimental, downstreaming to essence...of Depeche Mode. 

They had it all. Fame, excess, ecstasy, popularity, drugs, women, wealth, idolatry of the masses, they burned like flames, they got exhausted and saturated, emptied by overwhelming experiences, they've hurt and got hurt, they won stuff, future, the idols status and simultaneously lost identity, inner freedom, precious things ("precious and fragile things/need special handling/...things get damaged/things get broken/ I thought we'd manage/But words left unspoken...")  

Dave Gahan runs from a stage corner to the other, his body shines in the bright sinful light drops thrown down like a puzzle rain from the huge electric walls. Metallic beats fall from heaven surrounding the ecstatic masses, we shout our souls out, we elude into gigantic dimensions, it seems like tonight, here, in this summer night, all, together, we trancend back to our stolen roots, we get ourselves back after an exhausting journey through a superficial world.


Our bodies swing synchronically like blown away by the incentive atmosphere, hands flag in the air, we cry, we love, we begin to understand, excentric lightenings fall down from huge displays and cover us like flying carpets with songs of faith and devotion, we burst completely out when finally Personal Jesus gets played.

For this is the story of our human destiny, of searching for our personal Jesus, the one to project ourselves into, our saviour, our illusion of perfect mergence and our brutal ejection meant to finally understand our chimerical projection.


Martin takes over with his soft, intimate voice to interpret Home...The song flows up and down and his hands rise in the air to point our ecstasy. We drive all homes, back to ourselves, to a deeper understanding of our beings. We are thankful and touched. It‘s hot, fabulous, it's astonishing music.



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© Ilinca Schmitt - Gedichte und Kulturseite